


Meet Me Tonight in Atlantic City

by Ophelia_the_Grey



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Alternate Universe - Prohibition Era, Angst, Dark Jon Snow, F/M, Mob AU, Period Typical Attitudes, Slow Burn, gangster au, jon snow is charlie luciano, jon snow/sansa stark - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2019-10-25 10:35:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17723555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ophelia_the_Grey/pseuds/Ophelia_the_Grey
Summary: Jon Snow is a gangster a la Charlie Luciano. Sansa Stark is the daughter of his boss who is responsible for legitimizing the family. It's going to get dark. People are going to die.aka: The Boardwalk Empire AU no one asked for.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well they blew up the chicken man in Philly last night  
> Now they blew up his house too  
> Down on the boardwalk they're gettin' ready  
> For a fight gonna see what them racket boys can do

Jon took a drag from a cheap cigarette he bummed from one of Clegane’s men downtown. He leaned on a column outside of a small but gorgeous East side apartment, waiting for his boss’s daughter to come out, bright and bounding. Today was the night of Joffrey Baratheon’s eighteenth birthday, beautiful and blond, he was the true American dream-boy, one Sansa could love and pour her entire soul into as his dutiful wife. He fingered his cigarette angrily, pissed at the prospect of Sansa being wasted on a prat like Joffrey Baratheon. Joffrey would legitimize the Family.

Sansa grew up with all the privilege the daughter of a gangster could muster. Ned Stark made sure that his girls knew nothing of the world he thrived in, promising Robb, Jon, and Theon never to get into the specifics. The Starks grew up in the largest tenement in Brooklyn, their money made from bootlegging. Prohibition hit others like a ton of bricks, but for the Stark Family, it was a boom which thrust them into the world of crime. Her father, Ned Stark emigrated from Ireland fifteen years ago and the day after the Eighteenth Amendment was passed, quickly set up shop importing the strongest Irish Whiskey to the thirsty and eternally grateful patrons of New York City. With Robert Baratheon and Jaime Lannister, Ned Stark, her brother Robb, and their right hand, Jon Serrano robbed and killed their way to the top of the alcohol business, securing themselves as the head of a business that challenged all of the New York Families.

Now, Robert and Ned were close, but they kept their professional and domestic lives apart. Both families managed to stick to their respective boroughs, which Catelyn interpreted as Protestant snobbery. And so, for the time being, the Starks stuck to their Brooklyn tenement and the Baratheons to their spacious Westside penthouse, named “King’s Landing” by his wife, Cersei. So when the Baratheons invited the Starks to their eldest son’s birthday, this was a sign the Stark had moved beyond just the rough and tumble world of bootlegging and rum running. To Ned, this meant a closer relationship between the Starks and Baratheons, one which would either make them stronger than ever or lead them to ruin. 

Ned had asked Jon to drop her off at the Baratheon’s Upper West Side penthouse, overlooking the river. Sansa had stopped to buy an “appropriate” dress with Jeyne Poole, worried her own would not be enough. She had asked the entire house, tried on every dress in her closet, yet was not satisfied with the grunts from Robb and Bran or the shrill “For Fucksake, it’s fine,” from Arya. And so, Jon drove the two around all the fancy Fifth Avenue stores, searching for the perfect dress for her perfect future husband. Almost dark, Jon waited outside of Jeyne Poole’s house, waiting for silly Sansa Stark. Beautiful Sansa Stark. 

He heard her voice, coming down the stairs, and the door opened. Jon tossed his cigarette into the trimmed bushes in the front. “Jeyne, thank you, thank you, thank you,” Sansa gushed, graciously over thanking her for a gown, “I will see you there. Father always asks Jon to drive me.”  
“Please Sansa! We should drive together!” 

“No, No, Father insists.” Always the dutiful daughter. In this case, it was for her safety. While Robb had been targeted, Bran had been maimed, shot in the back and forever confined to a wheelchair. Her father would never have them travel outside of the pack again. 

With his deep accent, Jon resounded with authority, closing the door on Jeyne’s offer. “Come along Sansa. We should get going.” Jon pushed, attempting to get her back out the door and into the car. Sansa turned and nodded, closing Jeyne off to any protestations. Jon walked ahead of her to open the car door, helping her in and rounded the car to enter into the driver seat. 

“You good?” Jon asked. Sansa nodded silently, contented by the glittery dress. 

He drove forward, Central Park to their left and a line of wealthy apartments and hotels to their right. Never truly knowing one another, Jon and Sansa were the polar opposites of the family. Her mother, and Sansa by extension, disliked Jon’s Sicilian heritage, believing it hindered Ned from entering into the New York Society, whereas Jon disliked Sansa willful ignorance of the goings on of her father and brother, a beacon of purity, held up by a dark and dirty underbelly of New York organized crime.  
Jon hated her. Jon hated the fact that she believed herself better than him. She just saw him as her driver. Not her father’s right-hand man, killing those who got in the way. Sansa had no desire for knowledge of that world, but eagerly accepted the privileges it gave her. Jon knew Sansa was beautiful and smart. She, however, remained complacent by her father’s wealth and position. Untouched by her father’s world, she was of course naive. One had to question, how much she knew. Jon’s internal rage was interrupted by a question from the passenger seat. 

“Do you think he will like me?” She asked quietly. 

“Of course,” Jon responded sharply. “He’d be an idiot not to.”

Sansa chewed on her lip nervously. “I don’t know if he will. Jeyne told me he’s beautiful, and I mean I can’t possibly be-”

Jon interrupted her stream of consciousness. “Sansa, you are beautiful and you know it.” 

“Hilarious, Jon.”

“What?”

Sansa shrugged “It is a bit hollow coming from you.”

Jon turned to her, furrowing his brow. “Sansa, what do you mean?”

She sighed, “Well, I mean, Ygritte, Val, Dany. You have women all over you Jon.”

He turned back to drive again, “What the hell do you mean?” 

Sansa stammered, “Women, they like you, I mean. You have a lot of women. I’m sure you say that to all of them.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“You told them they were beautiful and then you got them into bed.”

“So what, Sansa?”

“Well, Ygritte you loved. Then she dumped you. Then Val, who you dumped. And Dany, who you are related to. And this is all within a year. I mean, you are shameless.” 

There it was. Sansa Stark thought he was a man whore. 

“Are you calling me a gigolo, Sansa Stark? One of those male prostitutes down by the docks.” 

She laughed mirthlessly. “Well, I suppose if that word had any effect on you, you would be offended?” 

He raised his voice, his nose flaring. “Perhaps I am offended. Perhaps I liked those women.”

“Yes, I suppose together as a group would be the most ideal, rather than individually.” 

“Jesus Fucking Christ Sansa. I lo-”

“What you loved them? No. They were a means to an end. They satisfied you. You felt more powerful because you were able to conquer them. You and my brother and Theon. There’s this bravado. You must be the best businessman. The best gangster. Always one-upping each other. Who can get the most women. Who can get the best deal. The best fuck. You and Theon want my father’s place. Robb’s place. You chose to let it out by fucking as many women as you can.” 

He fumed, unable to respond. His masculine pride blowing up to meet her critique of his manhood. She had been right. They solved a means to an end. He would never betray Ned Stark, but his ambition butted heads with his loyalty. He flirted with Ygritte and Val at a speakeasy in the thirties, The Wildlings. He bed them, kept them for a couple of months then dropped them. The Catholic guilt would consume him for a bit, but his life of crime would excuse him. 

The street lamps filled the car with light as he drove past 101st, 102nd, 103rd. Sansa heard laughter as people walked the street. She looked out the window, seeing a couple walking hand in hand along Madison Avenue. Jon turned on 110th, towards the West Side, going up a few blocks before parking the car in front of the Apartments. Robb stood outside with Theon and some other guards. 

Jon put the car in park and then grabbed her wrist. She turned to look at him. For a moment, it was silent, spent reading each others’ faces. His eyes were full of pain. She had never noticed how deep set his eyes were, protected by his broad brow. He looked hurt. 

“Is this what you think of me?”

“What would you have me think of you, Jon? If you could go into my mind and tell me all of your secrets?” Silence. “You cannot guilt me for my secrets when you will not tell me yours.” Sansa in her glittery dress shook his arm, releasing her arm. She climbed out of the car, to go into the Baratheon home. Sansa had known more than she let on and she had started to let on.


	2. Chapter 2

Jon had always made Sansa uncomfortable. His presence made it clear that the Stark money was founded on unsavory if not outright illegal means. He grew up on Mulberry Street, orphaned at six and taken in by the Starks at thirteen. His mother, Lyanna worked as a maid in a boarding house, his father, Rhegar Targaryen abandoned them at the first sign of success. After her death, Jon made his name selling first cigarettes, then harder stuff on street corners. Ned saw him get in an alley fight with some Irish Bowery Boys and quickly brought him into the Stark fold. 

There was always something wild about him. Unkempt. Catelyn made sure he never associated with the family in social spaces, but in the apartment downtown, he ran the lower East side as Ned’s right hand, liaising with the Speaks on the Lower East Side. 

Since her father brought him home, Sansa had loved his wildness, his freedom. The fact that he just didn’t care what people thought about him. There was unreserved freedom in his behavior, showing anger, passion, deeply caring for Rickon and Arya, crying for Bran when he was hurt. All these emotions, all in depth, all infuriatingly unchecked. If only he felt that deeply for me, she thought to herself. 

But of course, Sansa could not afford such raw emotions. She had to legitimize the Family. She would marry some politician's son, who would go to law school and become a politician himself. She would enter the Family into the cycle of privilege. She would “civilize” them, bring them into higher society. All of Ned Stark’s ambitions rested on a good match. 

And so, Joffrey Baratheon’s eighteenth birthday became her first calculated step towards legitimizing the Stark Family. As she stepped out of the car, she gracefully held out her hand to Robb, leaving Jon behind in the car. 

Robb sighed and took out her hand, “What the hell took you so long?” 

Sansa smiled pallidly, “I had to be perfect, Robb.”

He rolled his eyes, “Let’s go,” moving her hand to the crux of his arm, he escorted her up to the lavish apartments. 

Robert Baratheon made his money in shipping. If someone needed something in the city, you had to go through Robert Baratheon. He ran the trains, the ports, the damn toll roads, he owned it. Ned had entered into a business relationship with the Baratheons to cut costs on shipping his Whiskey into New York, opening up the five boroughs for the taking. 

While Baratheon, himself, was new money, his wife Cersei belonged to New York’s Bluest of Bloods. Tywin “Old Money” Lannister could trace their lineage to the Mayflower. He had agreed to the marriage after he found out that Cersei was two months pregnant. A shotgun wedding went ahead and Cersei lost the baby three months into the marriage. Even with the scandal surrounding the circumstance of their marriage, it was deemed a successful social climb, launching the Baratheons into the political social strata. Ned Stark hoped to emulate such a climb with a marriage to the Baratheons. 

Robb and Sansa rode the elevator to the top floor, opening to a large room, particularly notable for New York City. Sansa had never seen so much space in all her life. Imitations of Renaissance paintings covered the walls in vibrant reds, blues, and gold. Couches and chairs were pushed around with all the New York society clustered around the apartment. Her father and Robert, in the corner, discussing business. Joffrey sat in the middle, commanding attention. 

Joffrey turned to look to her, raising his hand for direct attention to himself, “Look all here! Sansa Stark! Out from the Stark hole in Brooklyn!” 

Sansa smiled, embarrassed. Robb put his coarse hand over hers, squeezing her soft fingers. She removed her hand, walking towards Joffrey. Robb moved to his father’s side, join in the talk of business. Joffrey had a smug smile on his face, staring at her like a cat with a mouse.

“Yes,” Sansa caught his mother’s eye, addressing her directly and politely, “Thank you so much for inviting us.” 

Joffrey smiled. Sansa noticed it did not meet his eyes. “You look absolutely lovely Sansa.” She smiled, feigning some form of flattery. Her father did not trust the Lannisters, and yet would willingly allow her to marry him. “You should not be down in Brooklyn! Hidden amongst all those train workers and prostitutes.” He laughed at his own joke.  
At this moment, Jon walked in, swaggering in. He had a need to walk a certain way, straight back, relaxed arms, alert eyes as if he would be ready at a moments notice. He always had a pistol and switchblade with him. When she was a child, it always reminded Sansa of a pirate. Sansa had just noticed his hair had been greased back. No doubt Theon made him put it back like that, she thought. There was still a curl left in the ends.

“I imagine the hoi paloi in Brooklyn could hardly stand watching you! We had a grease ball up her the other day and he just stared at Marcella the entire time! I imagine all the Eye-talians your father hire never get anything done!” Jon’s face twitched. He looked like he was going to jump across the table and throttle Joffrey. Theon held his arm and whispered something into his ear, guiding him into the other room. Sansa smiled blankly. 

Cersei stepped in, “Darling, why don’t you and Sansa go dance?”

“Of course, Mother.” Joffrey held out his clammy hand for Sansa to take, leading her to the floor. They danced for three songs. He stepped on her foot twice and never complimented her dress.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catelyn's POV

Catelyn Stark knew the Family had to be legitimized. Her brother-in-law Jon Arryn died in a drive-by in Queens, leaving her sister and nephew unable to support themselves. She thought that could so easily be Ned, all of us, left destitute. 

It began with Shaggydog’s death. The poor dog’s head lay deliberately on their front stoop. Someone had made their message clear; this was a threat. The final straw came the month before. The boys had been walking along Mulberry Avenue, Catelyn could see them walking in the same patterns, Robb and Jon walking ahead while Bran and Rickon trailed behind. A car passed. Bran got in the way. Jon scooped up the boy’s body and ran ten blocks to the hospital. They were aiming for Robb. Ned tried to talk her down. All of it was too much. What if Ned died. She must protect her family by aligning themselves politically with a family too powerful to hit. It was her duty to make sure that the Starks would rise to levels of the Lannisters and the Tyrells.

Robb and the boys would go to college, then law school. Her daughters would make advantageous matches to eligible bachelors. Sansa would follow suit, understanding the importance of the Family. Arya on the other hand; Catelyn hoped she would grow out of her boyish ways. 

All of this came at a price; socializing with the Baratheons and Lannisters. Cersei Lannister was a particularly nasty part of the package. Cold and scheming, Catelyn could never truly figure her or her brother out. Cersei swanned over her vile son. Catelyn thought to Bran, who she left complaining, envious at the fact that all of his siblings got to leave the house. His big brown eyes crying to let him outside. He had no need to cry; Catelyn already felt guilty.

The Baratheon’s home meant to put its guests in awe; with its large windows and large paintings. Catelyn felt this elaborateness compensated for lack of love between Robert and Cersei Baratheon.

Catelyn looked over the room to Robb. He was in a corner with Theon, Robb, and Ned, no doubt plotting some scheme. She wished they would just leave whatever it was alone. Ned and Robb came home late a week ago, worried about something. Since then, Theon and Jon had been hovering like two buzzards. Catelyn knew this meant something had happened and something bad was coming. Whenever she saw those two near Robb, it meant that trouble was brewing in Manhattan. She thought of Bran in his bed.

Catelyn looked to her eldest daughter, glowing in her dress. Sixteen and young. Excellent for the prey. Catelyn knew Joffrey only liked the visage of Sansa. Fresh blood, pretty, ripe for the taking. More guilt. Ned and Catelyn had left the protection of the Family to her, their innocent, naive daughter. 

Cersei was close in conversation with Margaery. That’s not good, Catelyn thought to herself, she’s plotting. Out of the corner of her eye, Ned slipped out of the room with Robert in a study. Her eyes returned to Cersei and Margaery. Oh, how she hated them. Cold and cool. Never saying what they meant, spinning webs around Robert. The thought they were so clever, believing that their tricks fooled Catelyn. She knew these uptown tricks. She had been burned too many times to fall for them. 

Margaery smiled, thinning her lips in a catlike way. Cersei grimaced in displeasure. Good, Catelyn thought, division will work in our favor. Cersei moved over to Sansa and Joffrey, reaching out to brush his hair away. 

In a moment, she heard three shots in rapid succession. She turned in a panic, looking for its source. Three more. The room descended into confusion. Robb and Theon went to their concealed pistols. Oh why did they bring them, Catelyn thought, as if they knew! Jon went to Arya, then Sansa, dragging them by the forearm to the bathroom. 

“Where did it come from?” Robb shouted, sounding more a boy than a man. 

“In here,” Jamie Lannister gestured to the study, “It came from in here.”

Catelyn turned. “Ned,” she screamed, running to the door.

On the ground lay the great Robert Baratheon and Ned Stark, both struck dead. 

“They will pay for this,” Robb roared, voicing Catelyn’s own dark thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is proofreading?


	4. Chapter 4

“You are leaving your family! You are leaving your home!” Sansa screamed. Her red flaming hair wild and unkempt as Jon had never seen before.

“I must go, Sansa, I have no choice.”

“You are abandoning me.” 

“I have nothing here! You are marrying Joffrey. Robb has taken over,” he stopped a second. Tears fell down her her cheek. Jon took a deep breath. “My father offers a good deal in Atlantic City. I can join my family-”

“We are your family!”

“I will be more effective down in Atlantic City. I can help Robb. I’ll bring rum in from the Caribbean and Whiskey from Ireland.”

She nodded her head furiously. “You are betraying Robb.”

“Sansa, can’t you see? I have nothing left here. It hurts too fucking much to stay here and watch you with him.”

Sansa paused, shocked. He had chosen to admit what was silently spoken between them. Unable to respond in her truest form, she stood pallidly. Jon took this silence to move forward and clutch her hands. 

“I know that you have to do it. I know why. Believe me, I know that. Please let me do what I have to do,” he moved impossibly close to her. “I will always be loyal to the Starks. Just promise me that you will be too.” 

“Always, you know that.” 

“Wait for me, Sansa. Please.” His large brown eyes frantically looking into hers, pleading. His hair was askew. When he got nervous, he ran his hands through his hair, ruining whatever style he started the morning with.

“What am I waiting for Jon?” 

“For me to make something of myself,” he smiled wryly. “I cannot do that in Brooklyn.”

By the end of the week, Sansa would marry Joffrey at St. Patrick’s Cathedral, their Plaza wedding reception captured in the social pages. Jon exiled himself to New Jersey to work for Rhaegar Targaryen, waiting.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to be honest. I've never written anything like this. This just sorta came out. Also, I did not edit this as much as I should have, so expect typos and glaring grammar mistakes.


End file.
